Dislaimer: I do not own the Dragon Age franchise, or Bioware. I would love to write for them someday, but for now I must content myself with fanfiction and my own twisted mind.

Author's Notes: An extra long chapter this time, because I just couldn't find a way to split out the remainder of Lothering in a way that made any sense. This chapter also ate up my single chapter buffer in that it took two weeks to write instead of my usual week, just barely meeting this deadline. Hopefully I'll be able to post on time next weekend. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and alerted, I really appreciate it.

And as always, thanks to my beta, Teakwood, for his patience and support. I've made it my goal to actually get him liking characters that he didn't like, bwahaha. He doesn't know what he's in for.

Arcanum Fatum

Chapter Seven: Departure

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Yllia felt much better as she left the freehold and headed back into the village to look for Alistair and Morrigan, Rhys trotting along happily at her side. Hawke had given her a set of robes that had belonged to his father – the only one of their family who had ever worn authentic robes, as Hawke and Bethany both had to hide their magic lest the templars find them. They were big, of course – she was practically swimming in the shoulders – but a well-placed belt cinched around the waist helped to keep all fabric covering areas that needed to be covered. Morrigan might feel comfortable flashing her skin for all the world to see, but Yllia had grown up in the world of buttoned-to-the-neck collars and floor-length hemlines. There was time enough to explore her comfort zones later.

Rhys stuck his nose to the ground, snuffling his way through Lothering in search of their misplaced companions. They got sidelined a couple of times – she hadn't been able to just leave the crying boy looking for his mother alone, and then there was the woman who was running low on health potions for those among the refugees who were sick and injured. It seemed that all around Lothering were people in need of help, and Yllia simply could not let them be.

She finally caught up with Alistair and Morrigan outside of Lothering's tavern, and she assumed they had only just met up themselves because otherwise she was certain it wouldn't have taken her an hour to track them down. Lothering wasn't that big; their voices carried quite a distance.

"Are you planning on helping every lost sheep that enters into this city?" Morrigan was asking Alistair hotly, her arms crossed over her ample chest as she frowned disapprovingly at the Grey Warden in front of her. "Yllia requested that we tend to our supplies and armor, not right every wrong that appears to exist. And you didn't even manage to get us a discount in the process!"

"We're not the ones who needed the discount – that man was robbing those people blind!" Alistair shot back, his tone defensive. He glared at the dark-haired mage in front of him. "If I can help, I am going to help!"

"We came here with a purpose in mind, and that purpose does not include-"

"Children!" Yllia felt like she was scolding a couple of new apprentices in the Tower as she hurried over to put herself between her two companions. She fixed them both with a glare that made Alistair wince and Morrigan look irritated. "Enough! What in the blazes are you two doing, arguing in front of the tavern like this? You've got an audience in case you didn't know!"

"Let them stare," Morrigan said calmly, "our conversation is hardly any of their business."

"What conversation?" Alistair snapped. "The minute I got here you started laying into me about something you weren't even present for!"

"Word travels – if you had ears, you'd hear it easily enough." Morrigan gave him a withering look, and Yllia shifted her body, planting herself firmly in Morrigan's line of sight. It was only after she'd done so that she realized the futility of the effort, and from the raised eyebrow of the other woman, so did she. Morrigan stood almost a foot taller than Yllia, and so did Alistair. They could easily glare over the top of her head.

Alistair made a choking sound from behind her in an effort to keep from laughing, and she spun, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him now. He immediately attempted to look innocent, but she could see the tug of a smile that didn't want to be contained.

Yllia scowled. "Yes, let's just all make fun of the short elf," she grumbled. "It isn't my fault you humans are giants."

"Mmhmm." She could feel Morrigan's smirk.

Ignore it. Ignore it. She took a deep breath, and then attempted to redirect the conversation back to the previous topic before they'd all been side-tracked by her height-challenged attempt at mediation. "So what are you two arguing about?"

Alistair's mirth was quickly replaced by indignation. "Our friend here," he said, and he used the term very loosely, "disapproves of my methods of obtaining new armor for us."

"His methods, as he calls them," Morrigan snapped, "are to play mediator for the Chantry and convince a merchant to lower his costs of supplies for the refugees – and yet we must still pay full price for the very same items!" She glared at Alistair. "If you were not going to be able to get us a discount, then you ought to have kept your nose out of it!"

"I wasn't going to just stand by and watch that bastard swindle -"

"Enough!" Rhys' ears perked up, and Morrigan and Alistair both, miraculously, fell silent.

Yllia took a deep breath. "Alistair, did you get replacements for the armor we need?"

"Yes."

"Morrigan, did you replenish our supplies?"

"Of course."

"And do we have enough coin left for us to go inside of this tavern and have a drink?"

A quick clanking of coin in bags and some counting confirmed it.

"Then that's all I give a damn about right now. I've already arranged board and a meal for later, so let's just get inside, stop arguing, and get off of our feet for half an hour without having to worry about darkspawn or bandits breathing down our necks." She looked from one to the other. "Sound good?" She didn't wait for a response, instead striding into the building and expecting them to follow.

She ignored the drunken leers that were being directed at her from one of the tables on the upper level of Dane's Refuge, keeping herself to the corner that she had been staking out for two hours now. Every time the tavern door opened she lifted her head, gauged the new arrival, and found herself thoroughly disappointed.

There were two things which drew her to this particular point at this particular time. The first had been the arrival of men from Teryn Loghain's army two days prior, seeking any information regarding the Grey Warden traitors who may have survived the Battle of Ostagar. Given Lothering's location as a hub in the trade routes, it wasn't far off the mark that anyone traveling northward from the Wilds would pass through the village.

It was the first the people of Lothering, and the Chantry, had heard of the Grey Wardens' treachery. Some accepted it without question, for why would the legendary Hero of River Dane lie about such things? Others were more cautious and skeptical, seeing as how the declaration came from a man who had turned back his army during open battle. Who was to say which the truth was? The Warden in question, at least, would be easy enough to locate – the soldiers described a woman, an elf, and a mage. An unusual combination, to say the least.

The second item that had led her to the tavern was the defeat of the bandits that had become a permanent fixture directly outside the village. It had taken all of her willpower not to do something about them personally, but to do so would have been to show her hand too soon. She had had to content herself with doing what she could for the refugees within the village itself, although the Chantry's ability to help was fast diminishing in the face of so many. When she'd heard that the bandits had been taken care of, she'd simply been momentarily pleased.

Until word filtered through Lothering's gossip chain that it was a female elven mage who had done the defeating.

Coincidence?

Leliana didn't think so.

And so she left the Chantry to stake out the most likely place for any traveler to visit, taking a seat at one of the tables and accepting the only non-alcoholic drink the barkeep had to offer. She knew she stood out in her Chantry robes, but…well, she hadn't taken any official vows, and there was nothing against a lay sister visiting a tavern. As taverns went Dane's Refuge was a bit on the mundane side; the rowdiest patrons were the same soldiers who had spread the news about Ostagar and the Grey Wardens.

A shout went up from near the door and Leliana started, realizing that as she'd become lost in her musings she'd forgotten to keep an eye on the door. Now those same soldiers she had just been contemplating were up on their feet and staring down a trio of travelers that appeared to be led by a…

Female elven mage.

By Andraste!

Leliana set down her glass and rose to her feet. The soldiers looked like they were about ready to come to blows with the Warden and her companions – whatever words had been exchanged between the two groups had them both rather incensed, and she could see the barkeep was starting to get nervous. Despite popular opinion, no tavern owner actually wanted a fight to break out in their place of business.

She put her sweetest, most disarming smile into place and hurried over to the group. "Gentlemen," she said, looking at the soldiers first, "surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

The leader of the soldiers turned towards her and narrowed his eyes, his arm rising in a threatening fist aimed at the elf. "They're more than that!" he growled. "Stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, and you'll get the same as them."

The man standing behind the Warden jerked slightly, and the mage's arm shot out, hand curling around his forearm in silent warning. It appeared, then, that they hadn't yet heard that the Grey Wardens were currently being hunted by Teyrn Loghain's men. Was the man a Warden as well? The rumors had said two of them had survived. The two of them exchanged silent looks, the elf shaking her head sharply with a clear intent for her companion to keep his mouth shut.

"What do you mean by calling the Grey Wardens traitors?" the third member of their group, a woman wearing a rather scandalous outfit drawled.

Before the soldier could respond, Leliana fixed a look of surprise upon her face and looked at her. "Teyrn Loghain claims the Grey Wardens betrayed the king. Haven't you heard?"

"What?" the man exclaimed.

"Alistair, Morrigan," the elf hissed. "This isn't the -"

"Enough talk!" The leader of the soldiers had clearly become fed up with how the encounter was going. "Take the Warden into custody, kill the sister and anyone else that gets in the way!"

That was that only warning they got before the soldiers drew their weapons, coming at them all at once. Leliana had only a second to contemplate whether this was a good thing or not before she was forced to draw her own weapons, twirling the blades in her hands before slashing at the nearest attacker. It was a flurry of blades and magic then, the elven Warden parrying with her staff while the other woman lobbed ice at the men.

It was Leliana, the warrior Alistair, and the mabari with them who provided the real damage, however. Leliana spun and struck with precision, knowing that she would be getting stares and choosing to not worry about such things. In battle there was no time for such questions, and Leliana was simply relieved to find that her skills had not diminished too greatly in her time with the Chantry.

At last most of the men lay on the ground; some dead, some unconscious, and the tavern was now mostly deserted by those who had scrambled out of the door as soon as the commotion began. Only the leader remained conscious, and he held up his hands in surrender as he found himself surrounded. "All right, you've won!" he exclaimed, eyes wide. "We surrender!"

"What a pity," the woman named Morrigan said, affecting a bored tone.

Leliana sheathed her daggers and turned to the elven Warden. "I believe they have learned their lesson, and we can all stop fighting now," she said in as casual a tone as she could manage. Truly these three were not ones to be trifled with, and the Warden looked at her with apprehension in her clear blue eyes.

"If we let them go," the elf said with a shake of her head, "then they'll report to Loghain." She looked at the man for several moments of contemplation, and then crossed her arms over her chest and looked the man directly in the eye. "Take a message to Loghain. Tell him that the Grey Wardens know what really happened at Ostagar. Tell him that he can't run from us forever."

The man's dark eyes flashed with anger. "And if I don't?" he sneered, some of his earlier bravado returning.

The elf gave him a sweet smile, so full of innocence and light that Leliana determined her earlier estimation had been correct; this was not a woman whose bad side she wished to be on. "Then I'll find out," she replied, "and I'll come visit you in your dreams. Did you know that if you get turned into a toad in your dreams, you'll start thinking you are one in real life? And there are so many worse things than toads."

The anger drained from his face, as did most of the color. "Uh…right. Message to Teyrn Loghain. From the Grey Wardens. Got it. I'll just, ah, go deliver that. Right now." He looked at her for permission, and when she nodded and stepped aside, he didn't even spare his fellow soldiers a second glance before he went tearing out of the building as if his pants had been set aflame.

Leliana could not help but fight back a smile as the elf turned to them, looking rather satisfied. "Well," she said, "that's taken care of." Then she turned her attention directly to Leliana herself. "Thank you for helping us."

Immediately Leliana shook her head. "Oh, no," she said, holding up her hand in placation. "Please do not thank me. I was simply doing what anyone would do at the sight of such an incident."

The Warden raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "And do Chantry sisters normally stand around in taverns with daggers sheathed to their backs?"

Leliana couldn't help but give another smile. "I was not born in the Chantry, you know," she replied. "Many of us had more…colorful lives before we joined." That, at least, was true enough. "Oh, but I have not introduced myself, have I? My name is Leliana."

"Yllia Surana." Ah, at last a name to put with the face, and an intriguing one at that. It sounded Dalish, although Leliana knew that the Circles were only supposed to take elven mages from the city alienages, not from the clans. There was a story there; she could sense it, and it made her all the more intrigued.

And if she played her cards right, perhaps she would have the opportunity to learn it.

"They said you were a Grey Warden," Leliana said, looking at her. "I'm surprised you are an elf, but elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no?" She rushed on before Yllia could interrupt her. "I know after what happened you will need all the help you can get. That is why I am coming along."

Yllia stared at her, looking a little…overwhelmed. "It's true that I'll need help, but…"

"That and the Maker wants me to go with you." Leliana smiled as innocently as she possibly could.

"I'm…sorry?" Yllia looked like she was struggling not to look at her companions, and she appeared completely off her guard now.

Perfect.

Leliana brought her hands together in front of her, tapping her fingertips together in a show of nervousness and anxiety. "I…I know this sounds…absolutely insane," she said hurriedly, "but it's true! I had a dream – a vision!"

"More crazy?" Alistair muttered from behind Yllia. "And I thought we were all full up."

Leliana ignored him and pushed ahead, looking at Yllia imploringly. "Look at the people here," she said. "They are lost in their despair. This darkness, this chaos, it will only spread. The Maker doesn't want this. What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker's work! Let me help!"

That, at the very least, was true enough and Leliana meant every bit of sincerity that she put into her words. She knew that Lothering was in the path of danger, and she knew, as hard as it was to accept, that the Chantry would not be taking action to ensure that the refugees would survive. Not until the danger was much more obvious, and by then it would be too late. Leliana did not want to give up on the village, but neither did she want to lose this fight before it had even begun.

The Grey Warden appeared to be warring with herself, caught between skepticism and pragmatism. Leliana clenched her hands together tightly, near holding her breath as she waited for a decision to be made.

At last the elven woman looked Leliana directly in the eye. "If you're serious about this then I won't turn down the help. But this will not be easy."

Morrigan gave Yllia a dry look. "Perhaps your skull was cracked more than Mother thought."

But Leliana could not stop the smile from spreading across her face, nor the relief that flooded through her. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate being given the chance. Have you a place to stay for the night?"

"We've made arrangements with one of the freeholds outside the village," Yllia replied, "although I only made them for three of us."

Leliana quickly shook her head. "Not to worry," she said. "I will need some time to prepare my own supplies. I will meet you in the Chantry in the morning, of that works for you."

Yllia nodded, extending her hand towards Leliana, who seized upon it to cement their agreement. "In the morning, then," the mage replied. Then she stepped back and motioned to her companions to follow her.

"Can you really make someone think they're a toad in their dreams?" Leliana heard Alistair ask Yllia on their way out the door.

"No," came the reply, "but he didn't know that, now did he?"

The door swung shut behind them, and Leliana let out a deep breath. She had much to do before the morning – much to prepare, and much to contemplate.

She hoped she was doing the right thing.

She hoped she knew what the right thing to do was.

"Would it be inappropriate for me to say that I'm glad we ended up not eating anything at that tavern?" Alistair asked in between hefty bites of food. "Compared to the rations we've been downing for the last week, I think this food deserves a place at the side of the Maker."

Yllia laughed softly. "I'll make sure to pass your compliments on to Leandra before we leave tomorrow."

She and Alistair were sitting up in the loft the Hawke's barn, their bedrolls stretched out on piles of hay that, compared to the hard ground, was far softer than anything they were used to. Down below, Rhys was happily gnawing away at a bone – compliments of Loch, who was now sequestered away inside the house with his family. Hawke had offered them a place at the table, but Yllia had declined for all of them. After all, it was Carver's first night back with his family, and they were already intruding enough by taking up temporary residence in their barn.

Besides, she didn't want to inflict Morrigan on the Hawkes any more than necessary.

The witch had scoffed at the notion of sleeping in a barn, and opted instead to set up a small campsite in the field surrounding the barn. No amount of convincing on Yllia's part could get her to change her mind – Morrigan preferred the outdoors to being under a roof, and the further they got from the Wilds the more she seemed to do so.

It left her and Alistair with a rather comfortable setting for the night, all things considered.

"We need to talk about what we're doing next," Yllia said, setting down her plate and reaching into her pack. "We didn't get into details about it when we left Flemeth's, but we should probably iron out some sort of plan before leaving Lothering."

She withdrew their folded map and shoved aside some of the hay, spreading it out in front of her. The map showed the entirety of Ferelden, and though it wasn't especially detailed, leaving many of the smaller villages off, it showed the Imperial Highway and the larger cities and trading posts. Alistair shifted to sit next to her.

Yllia reached out and pointed to four spots on the map. "So, according to these treaties we've got, we've got four destinations in mind. The treaties will require us to go to Kinloch Hold, Orzammar, and the Dalish respectively. Orzammar is the furthest north, and will probably end up being our last destination."

Alistair nodded, and pointed to the eastern part of the country. "The Dalish usually camp in the Brecilian Forest this time of year, don't they?"

"There should be at least one clan there, yes." Yllia followed the path from Lothering towards the forest with her eyes, then traced the same path to the area marked 'Redcliffe'. "We also need to speak with Arl Eamon if we're going to get his assistance against Loghain…which, from the sound of it, we're going to need more than ever."

"I can't believe he has the nerve to declare us traitors," Alistair said with a touch of venom.

"Which is why I think making for Redcliffe before going anywhere else should be our first priority," Yllia said, looking at him. "It's equal distance from here to either the arling or the forest, and I don't know about you, but right now I could do with some advice on how to proceed. If we have to watch out for the teyrn's men on top of darkspawn, then I want to be prepared for it."

Alistair looked at the map silently for a stretch of time, his eyes lingering on the arling of Redcliffe. She glanced at him; silence was uncharacteristic of him. She was struck by the seriousness of his expression as his gaze focused on the inked parchment, his hazel eyes devoid of their usual mirth. For a moment it seemed as if he were elsewhere, no longer sitting in the dimly lit loft with her, but caught somewhere in memory, somewhere distant and out of reach to her.

"Alistair?" she asked quietly, touching his arm with slender fingers.

He jumped as if she'd struck him, his eyes widening in surprise as he jerked his arm away from her and stared. Instantly he realized what he'd done, and a flush crept up his neck. He coughed, clearing his throat and pushing his hand through his hair.

"Are you alright?" Yllia tilted her head slightly to the side, regarding him.

"Who, me? I'm fine," he said, far too rushed to be believable. "Just fine. Just got caught up in my thoughts, that's all. And if Morrigan were in here, she'd likely make some kind of crack about me and thinking, but she's not, so why don't we just-"

"Alistair, you're rambling."

Her interjection cut him off, and he blinked, snapping his mouth shut as a sheepish look came over his face. "I…guess I was, wasn't I?"

She nodded. "You really were. Something on your mind?"

He sighed, glancing back to the map briefly. Then another, nervously, in the direction of the barn door – as if he expected to find Morrigan on the other side, ear pressed up and listening to every word. Yllia almost told him not to worry about it, because if Morrigan wanted to eavesdrop, she wouldn't do it in such an obvious fashion and there'd be nothing they could do about it. More likely the other woman could care less what they were doing in the barn while she slept outside.

However, if Alistair was that anxious over whatever he was thinking about, Yllia didn't want to push him to talk about it before he was ready. She made it a point not to pry into the lives of the people around her, because in exchange they usually left her own past well enough alone. "You don't have to…"

"No," Alistair cut her off. He sighed. "No, I think I do. Better for you to find out now than to be blindsided by it when we get to Redcliffe, and if I know Arl Eamon it will come up, whether I want it to or not."

Yllia responded by pushing the map to the side and shifting her position, tucking her legs underneath her as she turned her body to face his with an expectant look on her face.

It was several minutes before he started to speak, struggling with the words, as if he weren't certain whether or not he was getting them right. "You remember how I said that I was raised in Redcliffe, right? By…by the Arl? I think I mentioned it. Did I?"

"You did, at Flemeth's."

"Okay. Good. I think." He took a deep breath, eyes darting around nervously again. "Well, see, it's like this… I'm a bastard."

Yllia raised an eyebrow.

"A real one, not a figurative one," he hastened to continue. "My mother, she was a scullery maid at Redcliffe Castle. She died giving birth to me, and Arl Eamon took me in and let me live there until I was ten, which is when I was given over to the Chantry."

"Okay," Yllia said slowly. "So, your mother wasn't married to your father. I know there are people out there who care about that sort of thing, but it doesn't exactly change who you are." She tilted her head slightly. "Did you think I'd…look down on you for it, or something? Because if so – hello, elf mage."

"No, it's nothing like that!" Alistair said hurriedly, waving his hands in front of him and shaking his head to emphatically illustrate his assurance. "It's not even really that I'm a bastard, it's, well, see, it's my father." He took a steadying breath and squared his shoulders. "King Maric."

Yllia stared at him. "Come again?"

"My father," Alistair repeated, "was King Maric. Cailan is…was…my brother."

Whatever Alistair had been expecting for a reaction, it had certainly not been Yllia suddenly bursting out into laughter, pressing her hand against her stomach and doubling over as her shoulders shook. She struggled to get herself under control, and just when she thought she'd finally gotten the laughter reduced to giggles, she glanced up and saw the wide-eyed, slightly panicked and a little disturbed look on Alistair's face, and it set her off into fresh peals.

"Yllia…?" he asked slowly, looking at her as if she'd gone crazy?

Finally she was able to sit up straight, and wiped the tears from her eyes as she did so. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's just…of course you're King Cailan's brother. I thought there was something familiar about you when we met, but I never saw the two of you together so I didn't make the connection. You look alike."

"Oh, Maker, I hope not too much," Alistair said fervently. "I'll never be able to grow my hair out if that's the case."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Alistair suddenly looked subdued, and a little guilty – he was making fun of the king, and the king was… gone.

Yllia reached out and placed her hand on his wrist, curling her fingers around it gently. "It's all right to laugh, Alistair," she said softly. "It's all right to smile. You and I both know we don't mean anyone harm."

Alistair let out a heavy sigh. "It's just that… he had a good heart. Good intentions. He didn't deserve this."

"Did you know each other?" Yllia asked.

"We met, once," Alistair replied. "It wasn't much of a conversation. He was five years older than me, and apparently I was about as interesting to him as a rack of swords. Less so, actually, because the first words out of his mouth were, "Ooo, swords!" and he bee lined for them." He shrugged. "It didn't really bother me. My whole life I'd been taught to stay out of the way and not draw attention to myself. Cailan was to be the next king, and there was no room for me in that scenario."

"Did that ever bother you?"

He was quiet for a moment, and then lifted one shoulder in a possible shrug. "I've got no interest in the throne," he said, "not now, and definitely not when I was a child. I think…I think it bothered me more that I knew who my father was, but I wasn't allowed to even look at him the same way other boys could look at their fathers."

Yllia realized then that her hand was still resting on his wrist, and drew it back. "How often did you get to see him?"

"Not very." Alistair shook his head. "The Queen was Arl Eamon's sister, although she died before I was born. King Maric came to Redcliffe on occasion, but usually it was just Cailan, or Arl Eamon would go to Denerim. I, of course, did not get to go." He frowned slightly. "I think the last time I saw my father in the flesh was when I was…nine? From a distance, of course. I always had to keep to myself, lest some unsuspecting noble or servant see us together and make a connection."

There was a touch of sadness in Alistair's words, and Yllia had to resist the urge to give her fellow Warden a hug – it was her first instinct at the look on his face. She managed to restrain herself; she'd already broken that personal boundary once at Flemeth's, but that had been an extenuating circumstance and she wasn't going to let herself overstep again. She didn't want to risk alienating him.

Finally he sighed and met her eyes. "I would have told you, but it never really meant anything to me. I've never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew – they either resented me for it or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know as long as possible, but I wasn't sure if we'd get another chance to talk like this before reaching Redcliffe. I'm sorry."

"Alistair, it's all right," Yllia insisted. She didn't want him apologizing for something that was so obviously difficult for him to talk about. "Don't worry about it, okay?" When he didn't immediately relax, she smiled, and slipped a teasing lilt into her tone. "You look so serious. There isn't anything else you're hiding, is there?"

Her tone had the desired effect – she could see the glimmer of wit reappear in his eyes, and the smile as he replied lightly, "Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That's it. Just the prince thing."

Her smile grew. It wasn't quite as lighthearted as it might have been under different circumstances, but it was closer to the Alistair she was used to. She'd take what she could get. "We should probably get some sleep," she said, noting that the sun had long since gone down and the barn was completely dark save for the small flame in the lantern Hawke had provided them. "We'll be meeting up with Leliana tomorrow and heading out early."

Alistair nodded, and the next moments were busy with the two of them situating their bedrolls and settling in. Yllia waited until Alistair wasn't in danger of falling out of the loft if the light went out, and then moved her fingers, extinguishing the flame.

"Yllia?"

His voice was quiet in the darkness, coming from somewhere to her left. She turned slightly towards it. "Yes?"

"I'd appreciate it if you could just pretend to think of me like I'm some…nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

Yllia couldn't resist, and she rolled back onto her side, her back to him. In the darkness, he couldn't see her smile. "As you command…my prince."

"…Oh, lovely. I'm going to regret this. Somehow, I just know it."

They were up at dawn the next morning, packing up their bedrolls and tidying up the loft. Of Alistair's revelation the night before he and Yllia mentioned nothing – it went unspoken between them that Alistair did not want Morrigan, though Yllia doubted it would be easy to conceal it from her for very long, particularly if it became an issue at Redcliffe. Though they'd ended the night on a light note, Yllia knew Alistair hadn't been joking when he'd asked her to think of him as nothing more than just another Grey Warden, and she was happy enough to do so. What did it matter to her that Alistair was the bastard son of the former King? It wasn't as if he were in line for the throne itself – and weren't Grey Wardens supposed to stay out of politics, anyway?

Royal father or not, Alistair was still Alistair. That was what mattered most, wasn't it?

The Hawke house was quiet in the early morning, and Yllia felt a twinge of guilt for not giving a proper good-bye to their hosts. But Redcliffe was a good distance away, and they couldn't afford to waste time. She sent a silent prayer to the Maker to watch over Garrett Hawke and his family, and then nodded to Alistair and Morrigan that it was time to go.

And, of course, they hit an instant detour. And an instant conflict in opinion.

"Alistair, we can't just leave him in there," Yllia hissed as they approached the Chantry doors. "You and I both know Lothering is right in the horde's path. He stays in that cage, he'll die."

"And I'm sure the Revered Mother wouldn't have put him in there without good reason," Alistair protested. "Cages like that are reserved for criminals, Yllia, we can't just release whoever we see fit."

"Criminal or no criminal, it's not right to just leave someone locked up in the fact of near-certain death," Yllia countered. "And, last I checked, the Chantry doesn't have the right to serve as judge, jury, and executioner!"

Her voice echoed on the last word and she froze, realizing that she'd thrown open the doors to the very same Chantry she'd just been denouncing right as she'd made her proclamation. Refugees, sisters, and all stopped and stared at her. She'd never seen so many gaping mouths at once.

"…Yllia?"

Familiar voice. Yllia saw Leliana standing near the door, wearing the same surprised expression that most of the others shared – although the corners of her lips were twitching as she fought back a smile. The red-haired woman moved to join them. "That was…quite an entrance," she said diplomatically.

Yllia sighed, glancing warily around the Chantry. Most of the refugees had lost interest, as had about half of the sisters and brothers – but the few that were in the building were eyeing her staff. She willed herself not to tense. She was a Grey Warden, officially conscripted, Joined, and everything. There wasn't anything they could do about that.

She shoved them out of her mind. "It wasn't on purpose," she assured Leliana. "We were having a…disagreement." She glanced at Alistair, and when he scowled slightly she shot one of her own right back at him. She turned back to Leliana. "I need to see the Revered Mother before we go."

Leliana looked surprised, but she didn't question Yllia's reasons. "I am sure that can be arranged," she said. And somehow it was – within minutes Leliana was leading them to the back of the sanctuary. The Revered Mother was surprised to see them, even more so to discover that Yllia and Alistair were the Grey Wardens that Loghain's men had been searching for the day before. Yllia did her best to be as polite as possible, and with Leliana's assistance, managed to get the Revered Mother to turn responsibility over the Chantry's prisoner to the Grey Wardens.

And thus they added not just one dagger-wielding Chantry sister to their group, but also a stoic, near-silent and maybe-murderous Qunari warrior. Yllia wasn't going to complain. Leliana (despite her ramblings of Maker-driven visions) clearly had skills that none of them possessed, and Sten's brute strength was likely to come in very handy should they find themselves matched up with another ogre. But when Morrigan murmured beside her, "What strange company you keep," the elven mage was inclined to agree with her.

And so it was that their rag-tag group now numbering six proceeded out of Lothering by mid-day, restocked and supplied, and with a bit more coin in their purses due to the inevitable delays of good deeds that Yllia, Alistair, and Leliana simply could not pass up on before leaving. And so it was, naturally, that the very first thing they encountered was a group of darkspawn accosting two dwarves, and Leliana and Sten had a chance to prove their usefulness to Yllia in actual combat.

It was nice to see that her instincts were still working.

The dwarves, introduced as the merchant Bodahn and his son Sandal, were more than grateful for the aid, and offered them a chance to peruse his wares. While Leliana and Alistair did so, Yllia looked around.

Her gaze lit upon a tree several feet away – and the toe of a boot that she could just make out at the foot of it.

Yllia glanced at her companions and caught Morrigan's eye, lifting a finger to indicate that she would be a minute. The witch shrugged as if it didn't matter to her, and Yllia headed for the tree.

"I suppose I ought to thank you for the cures, but I thought you said you weren't good with Creation magic," she said, stepping around to the far side.

Hawke's emerald-green eyes looked back at her. "I said my talents were mostly Primal and that it was my sister who was the healer – I never said I couldn't manage any on my own. I would have helped more, but…"

She waved it off. "If anyone had seen you, it would have caused you trouble." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm guessing you didn't come here just to chat, though?"

He gave her a good-natured grin. "Actually," he said, "I just wanted to make sure you got out of here in one piece. I wasn't sure I'd catch you, though."

"We got a little delayed," she admitted. She pressed her lips together, thinking of the darkspawn they'd just dispatched. "I'm thinking it was a good thing. You saw, I assume? Of course you did; you were healing us."

"I saw." The grin vanished. "Carver and I are going to try to convince Mother and Bethany that we need to leave. There are arrangements to make, supplies to get… but we can't stay here."

"Where will you go?" Yllia asked.

He shook his head. "Haven't worked that bit out yet. North to Amaranthine maybe, or east to Gwaren. We've got relatives across the sea over in the Free Marches. I don't want to leave Ferelden, but…" He shrugged as if to say, what could you do?

"Protecting your family comes first," Yllia said firmly. She glanced around the tree and noticed that Alistair and Leliana appeared to be done, and Alistair was looking around for her with a frown. "It looks like my friends are waiting for me, so…" She hesitated. Simply walking away didn't feel right, nor did a casual 'good luck'. In the brief time that she'd been in Lothering, Garrett Hawke had become something other than a nameless, faceless stranger.

When the idea came to her it seemed so perfect that she wondered how she hadn't thought of it before. She reached into her pack and withdrew a silver amulet that she'd had tucked away safe ever since leaving the Circle. "Here," she said, and before he could question or protest she went up on her toes to slide it around his neck. "Take this."

Puzzled, he took the pendant and looked down at it. "What is…?"

"A protective amulet," Yllia explained. "It will help heal you during battles and replenish your mana. A friend of mine in the Circle gave it to me – he was studying to be a healer, so I assure you, it works."

Hawke almost instantly started to shake his head. "I can't take this," he said, moving to take it off. "It was a gift."

She caught his wrist and stopped him. "I can only wear one amulet at a time, and right now I think you'll find it more useful than I will. Please. Just…take it."

They looked at each other, and finally Hawke gave a nod. "All right," he said, letting the amulet fall back into place. "I… thanks."

Yllia gave him a smile, the edges tinged with sadness. "Good luck, Garrett Hawke," she said. Then she stepped back and went around the tree, returning to her companions.

He watched her go, watched her rejoin her group and set off down along the old Imperial Highway, vanishing from sight within minutes. The amulet felt cool in his hand, and his thumb brushed against an indentation on the back of it. Curious, he turned it over, raising an eyebrow when he saw the feline-shaped seal stamped into the metal. Odd, he thought. Well, I suppose nothing says mages can't be fond of cats.

He slipped the amulet under his tunic and headed back for the farm. He could feel the tension in the air, that sense of foreboding that threatened to crush any that failed to get out of its way. He quickened his pace, intent on getting back to his family.

Time was no longer a luxury they could afford.